


Howling At The Moon

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Series: Howling At The Moon Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Curing A Demon, Demon!Dean, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post season nine, The Trials, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Castiel have found Dean at last. Now they are going to do whatever it takes to make him a man again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The ramshackle chapel loomed behind him. Sam turned his back on it and rooted through the trunk. He didn’t want to be here again; the place was steeped in memories of angels falling and pain and his brother. His real brother, not the abomination that wore his face now.

A hand fell on his shoulder and for a split-second, he allowed himself to pretend it was Dean comforting him. Castiel spoke and the spell was broken. “He is ready.”

Sam wasn’t.

Despite the fact they’d spent the last months searching for Dean everywhere they could think to look, desperate for any sign of him, Sam wasn’t ready to face him now. He couldn’t look into that face and see black eyes instead of green.

“I’ll be right there,” Sam said quietly.

He picked up the leather case that held the syringe he would need for this and the book holding the incantation to purify. Tucking them under his arm, he slammed the trunk and ran a hand over the shiny, black paint. The car was Dean’s pride and joy, and driving it across the country while searching for Dean had been impossible to bear, but he had done it. Just as he had done everything else since Dean had died in his arms. He had pushed through it all because that was what Winchesters did, just as he would push through this and save his brother.

He trudged toward the door and paused for a second to take a deep, calming breath. He could hear Dean’s voice rumbling inside, and he closed his eyes. Not able to hear the words, he could pretend that Dean was himself again and this was just another conversation between him and Castiel. He took strength from the pretence, strength that enabled him to go inside. As soon as he saw his brother, the illusion was broken, as black eyes stared back at him.

“Here he is,” Dean said triumphantly. “The boy with the demon blood has come to cure a demon.” He laughed. “What do you think, Sammy? Think you can do it?”

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean said in a mocking voice. “What’s the matter, don’t remember your big brother? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You forgot about me enough times before. Like when you ran off to college, you forgot me then easily enough. And when Castiel plucked you out of the cage, you forgot me for a whole year that time. Good times.”

Sam moved to the table at the back of the church and placed the book and leather case down. He drew out the syringe and fisted his hand, making the veins stand out. With a hiss of pain, he pushed the needle into his skin and drew up the blood.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! You think _your_ blood is going to do it?” Dean said incredulously. “You might have made with the confessing, but you’re still a demon spawn. You’re not cleansed anymore, if you ever were. Your blood is going to do nothing but add sulfur to mine. Which, in case you didn’t notice, I already have plenty of my own. No, if you’re serious about doing this, you need a _human,_ Sam. Hell, try Cas’. He’s closer to human than you are these days, with his stolen grace rapidly dying out.”

Sam ignored him and pulled the needle out of his vein. “Cas, hold him.”

Castiel stepped behind Dean and gripped his head between his hands, holding him in place. Dean’s black eyes blazed with fury and he tried to jerk out of his grip, but Castiel was too strong.

Sam walked forward, trying not to see his brother looking back at him as he plunged the needle into Dean’s neck and pressed the plunger. As he pulled it out, Dean laughed raucously.

“Demon blood! There’s nothing quite like it, is there Sam?”

Sam turned away.

“Not feeling chatty?” Dean asked. “But you’re Mr. Heart-to-heart. What’s the matter, black eyes putting you off?”

“You’re not him,” Sam said quietly. “You’re not Dean.”

“And I never will be again,” Dean said happily. “Your blood isn’t going to cut it. You can pour it into me and chant your latin, but all you’re going to do is bore me. Face it, Sam, you’re a failure. You couldn’t keep me alive and you can’t make me human now.”

Sam shook his head, silently reminding himself that it wasn’t real. It wasn’t Dean.

xXx

Sam couldn’t stay in the church with Dean long. He lasted only a matter of minutes before seeking the shelter of the Impala. It was raining and the drops spattered against the windscreen with soft plunking sounds. Castiel sat with him, in Sam’s usual shotgun position, but they didn’t talk. For weeks, they’d been on a mission, find Dean, save Dean, and all their conversations had centered on that. Now they had him and were working towards saving him, they had nothing to say.

He checked his watch and saw that it was almost time for him to administer the next dose. He slowly got out of the car and went back into the church.

Dean grinned at him. “Tick tock, Sammy. You’re running a little behind schedule. What have you and Cas been doing out there anyway? Sharing your favorite Demon Dean memories?”

Sam ignored him as he drew up the next dose of blood.

“I have a _bunch_ of good memories,” Dean said happily. “You heard about the woman in Phoenix, right?” He closed his eyes and a look of satisfaction spread across his features. “Boy, she was a screamer. And the husband… Well, he was a screamer, too.”

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and called to Castiel.

Dean locked eyes on Sam as Castiel held him still. “Go on, Sammy. Do it. Give me the hit!”

Sam depressed the plunger and Dean shouted. “Woohoo! Sulfur, there’s nothing else quite like it!”

Sam turned away and wiped the tear that had crept down his cheek.

xXx

“Are you sure you even want the old Dean back?” Dean asked. “I’ve been having a helluva time, and I know you have, too.”

Sam shook his head. “You think this has been fun for me?”

“Really? You mean you haven’t been having the time of your life running around on my trail with Castiel with you? I admit I led you on a bit of a joyride, but isn’t that half the fun of a road trip? I made sure you saw the great country we live in. Hell, we even stopped in Lawrence for a while. It was good to be home. There were so many interesting people there to get to know.”

Sam’s stomach twisted as he thought of the path of wreckage Dean had left in his wake. He didn’t know about Lawrence though, and he wondered, selfishly, if Dean had paid Missouri a visit while he had been there. It was more than concern for her; it was the fact that if Dean had hurt her, he would never forgive himself. Nameless, faceless people were bad enough, but if it had been someone Dean knew…

He shook his head. It was too late for regrets. What was done had been done. All he could do now was see this through and save Dean from himself.

Castiel held Dean in place as Sam inserted the needle into Dean’s neck.

xXx

“Don’t you think you’ve taken enough from me already?” Dean asked conversationally as Sam came back into the church. “I mean, I gave everything up for you and now I’m getting what I want, finally. Do you really have to take that away from me?”

“I’m doing what Dean would want,” Sam said. “The real Dean. Not you.”

“You think you’re doing this for _him!_ Seriously, Sammy, This is the most selfish thing you have ever done in your life. After all I’ve given up for you, you’re taking my peace of mind away.”

Sam turned away, but Dean kept talking.

“You took Mom away. If you hadn’t been born, she would never have died. Yellow-Eyes was there for you. My life was ruined the day she brought you into the world. They should have drowned you in a sack like the mutant you are.”

Sam didn’t want to hear these things in his brother’s voice. He knew it was his fault. He didn’t need the reminders. It served a purpose though. Every word Dean spoke reminded him that it wasn’t really his brother talking. Dean would never say those things, no matter how true.

“My childhood. I didn’t stand a chance at a normal life after you came along. _Take care of Sammy._ It was the chorus of my life. Dad put that on me when I was just a kid myself. Between the two of you, my childhood was stolen. I could never do the things I wanted because I was saddled with you. I could do nothing I wanted, because you were always there, demanding my attention. I was a kid myself when Dad armed me with a gun and assigned me as your protector. And I never got away from that. My whole life was you, and now, I finally have some peace, you’re going to steal that away from me again.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly, not sure if he was talking to himself or his brother.

“Sorry!” Dean laughed. “If you were really sorry, you would have stayed gone. Do you have any idea the relief I felt when you went to Stanford? Finally, I had some peace. I didn’t have to watch out for your stupid ass anymore.”

“You came for me!” Sam snapped, turning back to face his brother and seeing Dean’s wide smile.

“A moment of insanity,” Dean said carelessly. “If you ever gave a crap about me, you would have turned me away. You were the one with visions; why didn’t you see what a crap storm you were going to cause in my life? You came along, clinging to me like a parasite. Taking away everything that was good. You took everything from me, Sam. Lisa, Ben, Benny. Anything I had that wasn’t about you was taken from me.”

Sam’s hands fisted at his sides. He was close to throwing a punch. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder again and spoke softly, “It is time, Sam. Give him the blood and leave.”

Sam stepped forward with the syringe in his hand.

xXx

The rain had stopped and Sam and Castiel were leaning against the hood of the Impala. From inside the church, Dean’s voice bellowed.

“This is the face that stones you cold. This is the moment that needs to breathe. These are the claws that scratch these wounds. This is the pain that never leaves.”

“Why is he singing?” Castiel asked curiously.

Sam swallowed a lump in his throat from the pain of the memory. “It’s Metallica. It calms him down?”

Castiel frowned. “Do you think he’s feeling the effects of the blood?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. He could just be screwing with me.”

“How are you doing, Sam?”

Sam looked into Castiel’s piercing blue eyes. “Honestly, Cas, I don’t even know. It’s Dean, but it isn’t. You didn’t see Crowley at the end. He was really suffering. And Dean… He’s going to feel it so much worse. And then, when it’s done, I’m scared the pain of it is going to end him.”

“It might not just be the pain of what he’s done,” Castiel said somberly. “If you do what you said you would, it will be so much worse for him.”

Sam shook his head. “I have to do it, Cas. I have to try. He talked me off the ledge once. I can’t let him do it again. This has to end it. No one else can go through what he’s been through.”

Castiel sighed heavily. “Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing.”

He pushed away from the car and made his way back inside. Dean’s singing faltered as the door opened, and Sam was glad of the peace for a moment. It didn’t last long. As he saw Sam, Dean grinned evilly and started singing again.

“I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride. I'm wanted dead or alive. I'm a cowboy, I got the night on my side.   
I'm wanted dead or alive.” He broke off laughing. “Remember this one, Sammy?”

Sam remembered. They were driving to Indiana, on Lilith’s trail. Sam had wanted to talk, but Dean had turned on the radio. They had sung together. Sam couldn’t hear the song since that day without remembering the horror of what came after. He didn’t want to hear it now, especially in his brother’s voice.

“Sing with me, Sammy,” Dean cheered.

Sam drew the blood into the syringe and then positioned himself in front of Dean. “Don’t call me, Sammy,” he said as he depressed the plunger.

xXx

When they got into the church again, things had changed, Dean has changed. He wasn’t singing anymore. He wasn’t grinning. He was staring down at his hands clasped in his lap. He didn’t look up as Sam moved to the table and prepared the next injection of blood.

When Castiel gripped his head and tilted it to the side, he looked into Sam’s eyes and with a forced smile as he injected him. When Castiel released him, he shuddered.

“Sulfur, nothing else quite like it,” he said, but he wasn’t taunting now, his voice was softer. It was as he was struggling to play his part.

“Dean?” Sam said gently.

Dean smiled. “Don’t get your hopes up, Sammy. It’s not affecting me. Your blood will never affect me.”

Sam didn’t believe him. He was feeling it now, Sam could tell. He knew this was going to be the hard part for his brother, remembering things as the humanity crept through him again. Sam didn’t want to cause his brother suffering, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to see this through.

Right to the end.

xXx

Sam didn’t leave Dean again. He sat on the edge of the table, just watching him. Dean didn’t speak. He didn’t taunt. He seemed lost in his thoughts. Sam knew they weren’t happy thoughts by the deep lines on his forehead, and he wondered what it was that was returning to him now. Kevin? Gadreel? Mom? Dad? Lisa? The list of things that could hurt him went on and on.

When the time came round, Sam drew up the blood and Castiel moved towards Dean. Though he had seemed calm before then, he became frantic now. He tried to yank his head out of Castiel’s grip and struggled against the cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

“No!” he shouted. “Don’t do this to me!”

“I have to,” Sam said, his self-loathing clear in his tone.

“I went to Hell for you, Sam!” Dean shouted. “You owe me!”

“I know. That is why I am doing this. If you were really you, you would want me to. You wouldn’t want to stay like this forever.”

Dean’s struggled intensified. “I can! I want to! You’re going to kill me!”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said. “We’re going to save you.”

Dean laughed. He was still laughing as Sam pushed the blood into his veins.

xXx

It was time. The hour had finally passed, and Sam was preparing the last dose of blood. Dean was silent again, sitting with his head bowed in the chair.

Sam flipped open the book and read the latin for possibly the hundredth time. He needed to be sure. He had to get it right, or all this would be for nothing.

“Sam, please,” a soft voice said behind him, and he turned to see his brother. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to.”

“I can’t bear it. It hurts already, so much. If you do this, take this last thing away from me, I’m going to feel it all.”

Sam nodded. “I know, but it’s the only way. I don’t want you to hurt, Dean, but I can’t leave you like this.”

Dean’s lips curved back in a snarl. “If you do this, if you make me feel it all, I swear I’ll put a bullet in my brain. You know I will.”

“No, you won’t,” Sam said calmly. “No matter how bad it is, I know you won’t do that. You’ll suffer and you’ll come through the other side. It will be better in the end.”

“How are you going to stop me?” Dean asked. “You’re not going to want to be near me when this is over. It’s only the fact you’re as twisted as me about being brothers that’s making you stay now.”

“No, Dean. It’s not. I’m here because I want to be here.” He couldn’t promise to stay after though, as he didn’t know whether it was a promise he would be able to keep. It could be out of his hands. There wa a chance, just a small chance, that by doing this, curing Dean, he could slam the gates of Hell. It was a chance he had to take.

Dean shook his head. “Please, Sam. I’m begging you. Don’t do this to me.”

Sam closed his eyes and a tear slipped down his cheek. “I'm sorry.”

Dean didn’t struggle this time. There was no need for Castiel to hold him in place. Like Crowley had done, he just tilted his head to the side and allowed Sam to inject him.

Sam’s eyes blurred with tears as he dropped the syringe down onto the floor and drew a flip knife from his pocket. He drew the blade across his hand and blood welled.

“Sam, no,” Dean begged. “Please no.”

Sam fisted his hands so the blood crept through his fingers and then he stepped closer to Dean. Dean looked up at him, and though his eyes were still black, Sam was sure he could see the fear in them.

“It’s going to be okay, Dean,” he said softly. “You’re going to be fine.”

He raised his hand slowly, bracing himself. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra! Lustra!” As he spoke, he pressed his bloody palm to Dean’s mouth, forcing the blood into Dean’s mouth.

Dean’s head flew back and bright, white light spewed from his eyes and from under Sam’s palm. Dean’s eyes squeezed shut and Sam stepped back panting.

He knew he had only a matter of minutes to try to work the last part of his plan, but he needed to see his brother through it first. He gripped Dean’s cheeks and raised his head. Dean’s features were twisted with anguish and his eyes were squeezed closed.

“Dean, look at me!” he commanded.

Dean shook his head, a moan escaping him.

Sam shook his head. He wasn’t going to reach him. Dean was in too much pain. He couldn’t waste time. He leaned forward for a moment, pulling Dean against his chest and holding the back of his head tightly.

When he released him, he held Dean’s face again, and said, “I’m proud of us, too.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, his perfect, human, green eyes. His look of anguish was replaced by a look of horror. “Sammy! What are you doing?”

Sam couldn’t answer him. He couldn’t waste time. He patted Dean’s cheek and stepped back. From his pocket, he pulled a scrap of paper with the enochian words inscribed on it. He had no idea if it would work, but he had to try.

He looked at Dean once last time, nodded to Castiel, and then recited the words. “Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr.”

Familiar pain swept through him, making him feel like his every organ was on fire, and then he dropped to the ground, life deserting him. His last satisfied thought was that it had worked this time. He could feel it.

He had done it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dean, look at me!” Sam ordered.

Dean shook his head and moaned. Sam gripped him and held him against his chest. Dean didn’t want to be held. He didn’t want to be touched. He wanted to be left in these chains until he died. He didn’t deserve comfort, not after what he’d done.

Sam pulled back and cupped Dean’s face in his hands. Dean knew what he wanted; he wanted Dean to look at him, but how could he? How could he bear to look into Sam’s eyes, knowing that what he had done? It was too much. Then Sam spoke and everything Dean wanted and needed was lost as he recognized the resignation in Sam’s voice and words. “I’m proud of us, too.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open. “Sammy! What are you doing?”

Sam smiled and patted his cheek and then stepped back. Dean was frozen in place. He couldn’t or speak. All he could do was watch as his brother pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and glanced down at it. He looked at Dean and then Castiel, and still Dean was frozen in place. He knew what he wanted to say: ‘No, stop! Don’t do it!’ But the words died on his lips. He was useless, shackled in a chair and unable to do anything but watch in horror as Sam read the enochian from the paper.

"Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr."

There was a second, less than a second, that Sam remained on his feet and then he dropped like a stone. His eyes rolled up into his head and he hit the dirty floor of the church with a thud.

“Sam!” Dean bellowed, trying to get to his feet, forgetting the shackles and chains around him, thinking only that he had to get to his brother. The chains held though, and Dean couldn’t move more than an inch.

“Sammy!” He looked over his shoulder at Castiel. “Let me free!”

Castiel was staring at Sam with a creased brow and look of immense sadness in his brilliant blue eyes, but at Dean’s command, he started as if coming out of a daydream. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and proceeded to release Dean, though his attention seemed only half-devoted to the task. The rest was directed on Sam’s prone form.

As soon as the chains clinked away from him, Dean threw himself out of the chair onto his knees. He crawled toward Sam, hand brushing aside the syringe that had held his brother’s blood and his own salvation.

Sam was lying perfectly still; his eyes were closed and not even breaths moved him. Dean reached out a shaking hand and touched still warm Sam’s cheek. “Sam,” he said gently. “Wake up.”

“He can’t,” Castiel said solemnly.

“Shut your mouth!” Dean spat.

He patted Sam’s cheek, gently at first and then harder, so Sam’s head rolled.

“Sammy! Wake up, now. You’ve had your fun, scared the crap outta me. Joke’s over.”

Sam didn’t move a muscle and Dean grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Sammy!”

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off. He didn’t want anyone’s touch but his brother’s.

“He’s gone, Dean.”

Dean choked and gasped. “No, he’s not. He can’t be.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sam!” Dean grabbed at his brother’s coat and pulled him against his chest, cupping the back of his head in his hand. His breaths came in gasps and tears tracked down his cheeks. “Sammy, please.” Sam was lifeless against him. Like a doll. Like a corpse.

Realization came over him slowly, the understanding that Castiel was right; Sam was gone. His He was dead.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Dean rocked Sam slowly against him, just as he had done long ago when Sam was a child waking from a bad dream. He had held Sam them, rocking him back to sleep, now he was rocking him in death.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Sammy, I'm so sorry. Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”

Castiel moved into his line of vision and knelt down. “We need to move him, Dean.”

“Get away from him!” Dean snarled. “Don’t touch him!”

Castiel dropped the hand that had been reaching for Sam and bowed his head. “He deserves better than this,” he said. “He shouldn’t be left on this dirty floor.”

Dean closed his eyes and buried his face in Sam’s neck. His long hair tickled at Dean’s face, and it made him think of every time he’d teased Sam about his hair. He would give anything, absolutely anything, for Sam to wake up now so they could do it all over again.

“Leave,” he said.

“I cannot,” Castiel said calmly. “I made a promise. I know what Sam wanted to happen next, and I promised…” He cleared his throat. “I will see it done.”

Dean looked up at him and though he saw the tears forming in Castiel’s eyes, he felt no sympathy for the angel, only anger.

“You promised?” he asked in a low dangerous tone. “What did you promise?”

“Sam wanted to be salted and burned,” he said. “I will see it done.”

Dean clung to his brother for a moment longer, relishing the weight in his arms, and then he slowly, gently lowered him to the floor again, positioning him so he looked comfortable. When that was done, he pushed himself to his feet and towered over Castiel.

“You knew what he was going to do?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I knew. We discussed it at length.”

Fury raged through Dean like lightning. His hands shook as they curled into fists. “You knew he was going to kill himself!”

“I knew he was going to try to close the gates,” Castiel said, getting to his feet, too. “I knew he was going to save you.”

“Did you even try to stop him?”

“Of course I did,” Castiel said. “I tried everything I knew to say. He was adamant, and I couldn’t overpower his will. Too many have done that already to him.”

Dean struck out a fist and caught Castiel across the jaw. “You let him die!” he bellowed.

Castiel didn’t fight back. He just looked solemnly into Dean’s eyes. “I let him make a choice.”

“What does that matter if he lives?” Dean asked. “He’s…” His voice broke and he found that he didn’t want to use words. He wanted to strike out, again and again. He wanted to hurt Castiel physically the way he was hurting emotionally. He couldn’t bear to feel this much pain and live.

His fists pounded Castiel across the face and chest. The blows didn’t satisfy anything in him. He wanted Castiel to fight back, but he didn’t.

Broken words crept out of him as he fought. “Dead… Sam… Gone… Why?”

“He had to,” Castiel said softly. “He had to try.”

Dean gripped Castiel’s lapels and prepared to lay another blow, but Castiel did something unforgivable. He reached up a hand and gripped the back of Dean’s neck and smiled sadly. “I know, Dean. I feel it too.”

Dean’s legs buckled and he fell to his knees, dragging Castiel down with him.

“Oh, God. He’s gone.”

“I know,” Castiel said in a soothing voice. “I know, Dean.”

Tears began to fall in earnest and his vision blurred. “Cas, what am I going to do? My brother is dead. He’s gone.”

Dean threw back his head and howled his grief to the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> This story now has a sequel/continuation. It's titled Lamentation In The Veil. 
> 
> Clowns or Midgets xxx


End file.
